My life as a pencil.*

 Richard stood upright in a glass jar not too far from the family computer. He was an old pencil now. There was a time, many years ago, when he might have been the first choice for a child clutching for a tool to express himself, but now he sat undisturbed with the company of a disused pen and a fellow with a felt tip.

 

The pen was named Brian and had probably long since run out of ink and Mathew, with the felt tip, kept his lid on these days. From where Richard stood, he could see Aimee the pencil sharpener. Sometimes he still fancied a good sharpening. 

Years ago, with the help of a child's hand, he had been quite a good artist - nothing fancy, but he could draw a pretty good battleship or a Vauxhall Velox.

Ah, those were the days! Pencils liked to be busy. Otherwise it was just lying around or being sucked by some guy who didn't clean his teeth thoroughly. Richard hated teeth marks. 

Now his life was a long wait. Someone entered the room and sit in front of the computer. He could sense Brian getting excited, in a sort of hopeful way. People these days tended to choose a pen over a pencil. Still, Brian was just about out of ink, so Richard knew he had a small chance. The lady at the computer was studying something and then her eyes started to flash around. She was looking for something to write with! Richard could see lots of bits of paper that had been used to record information that was vital for a short time. There was also unused paper in the printer. The lady took one of these and folded it in half. Richard felt confident that she wouldn't choose the felt pen. It was a 50/50 chance. For an aging pencil this was very good odds!

Richard's heart sank. Frank, a young pen, was lying on a scrap of paper not far from the computer. 

Frank was an upstart! Someone had left him there only a few days ago - some lazy bugger who couldn't be bothered returning Frank to where he belonged. Now Frank was a young pen with an unfair advantage. 

Obviously the lady picked up Frank. Hold on! She dropped him to the floor as she read something important on the computer screen. She was desperate to quickly write something down. She reached over and grabbed Richard - after all, a pencil was always ready as there was no button to press or cap to remove. 

Soon Richard was writing. He helped cross out a few wrong numbers and soon the job was complete. The lady lay him on the desk, by the computer! She'd forgotten about Frank. Suddenly Richard's life was looking up. Well, I mean, he was in the first choice writing implement position. Just a hand reach away. Brian looked really pissed off and Frank, well, he'd probably get kicked further under the computer table with time and careless human feet. 

The life of a pencil CAN be a good life.

* Many thanks to the nuns at Saint Vincent de Paul Primary School who taught us to write from the perspective of a pencil around 1960.